Late for a good reason.

Nine

That which is one they shear and make it twain
Who would Love’s light and dark discriminate :
His pleasure is one essence with his pain,
Even his desire twin brother to his hate.
With him the foiled attempt is half achieving ;
And being mastered, to be armed a lord ;
And doubting every chance is still believing ;
And losing all one’s own is all reward.

I am acquainted with misfortune’s fortune,
And better than herself her dowry know :
For she that is my fortune and misfortune,
Making me hapless, makes me happier so :
In which conceit, as older men may prove,
Lies manifest the verv core of Love.

Hilaire Belloc.